


Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are in a Paradox

by curtangel



Category: Rosencrantz & Guildenstern are Dead - Stoppard
Genre: LiveJournal, M/M, NaNoWriMo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-16
Updated: 2019-02-17
Packaged: 2019-05-17 09:42:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14829909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/curtangel/pseuds/curtangel
Summary: Rewrite of 2004 Nanowrimo





	1. Between the Lines

**Author's Note:**

> 99% of the reason I'm rewriting this is because I love the title. The other 1% is because I've always meant to rewrite it once I learned to rewrite without completely destroying my work (I think I've figured it out, at least I hope I have...). I want to keep as much of the flavor of my original work as possible so I will probably end up leaving in some things I wouldn't write now.  
> Chapter titles will be kept as I originally wrote them.  
> 

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Original written 11/2/2004 on Livejournal

If one were to ask Guildenstern how he remembered life - he would say it was like a peat bog - with few ups but one or two deep sink-holes that would suck you in and drag you down.

There was, for example, the unpleasant discovery he made during his and Rosencrantz's trip to Elsinore:

The Player King had left to go "on" - hiding (presumably) behind some nearby bush or tree. Guildenstern checked the coin, and snorted smugly. It was tails.

"I knew it was just a matter of time until the laws of probability took over." He turned to where he assumed his own audience would be waiting only to find that Rosencrantz had wandered off. "Where are you going?" Guildenstern barely suppressed the irrational panic that bubbled up. 

"I thought I saw something... a light..." Rosencrantz shrugged, "Its gone now." 

Through the secret language of old friends (facial expressions and hand signals) they agreed that neither of them particularly wanted to see whatever kind of show the tragedians were going to put on. They slipped away as the Player King came "on" monologuing about some sort of rotten thing that had happened to his kingdom.

"Does anything seem different to you?" Guildenstern looked up at the sky as if it surprised him somehow.

"Well, we aren't in the same place we were - we've walked a bit."

"No, its something else. I feel... unusually fresh - is that the word I'm looking for?" He checked in with Rosencrantz who shrugged. "As if I had been stuck in a musty attic or a box or... something. And I've just been let out to stretch my legs, breathe some fresh air."

"We could check..."  Rosencrantz reached into his purse for a coin.

"No." Guildenstern spoke sharply but when Rosencrantz turned to him, surprised, Guildenstern spoke more gently, "I just had a change of luck, no need to take chances..."

"What's the matter with you?" Rosencrantz put the coin away, muttering to himself. He watched as Guildenstern walked away until Guildenstern was far enough ahead that Rosencrantz had to run to catch up. This, in itself, was fine; however, Rosencrantz immediately tripped over a tree root and fell. Guildenstern, for his part, didn't notice any of this and continued at the same pace until Rosencrantz's words sunk in and made him stop.

"What is the matter with me?" He  looked behind him in time to see Rosencrantz struggle up, brush himself off and trip a second time over the same tree root. Rosencrantz rose, straightening his clothing while laughing nervously.

"I could have sworn those tree roots weren't there before."

"No..." Guildenstern said thoughtfully in a tone that made it difficult to tell if he was agreeing with Rosencrantz or questioning him. Guildenstern examined the coin that broke their streak. He looked at one side, then the other and back again. He checked a second time to be absolutely sure before he dejectedly sat with his head in his hands.

"Lucky, wasn't it? Well, lucky for you," Rosencrantz added humbly, watching carefully as he stepped. "Maybe if we continued you would have had a streak like I did and won all of your money back. Not that I need the money... But still..."

Guildenstern silently handed Rosencrantz the coin without raising his head. Rosencrantz looked at one side of the coin. Then the other. Back at the first side. He checked a few more times before he sat next to Guldenstern.

"Well..." Rosencrantz started, but found himself unable to find any words to finish what he was going to say.

"Quite..." Guildenstern agreed - perhaps in implication - that the words to describe this discovery were difficult to find.

"I didn't even know they made double tailed coins." One learns something new every day, Rosencrantz seemed to casually say. As if this didn't ruin everything. 

"No..." Guildenstern agreed when he could speak again.

"I guess, though, when they make the double headed coins, they have to do something with the tails." Rosencrantz noted cheerfully.

Guildenstern was angered, but only for a moment. "Don't be stupid..." he said with no emotion behind it, the words like a rock dropped into well with no splash. Guildenstern dejectedly stared down at the ground while Rosencrantz shuffled nervously, trying to think of something to say to raise his friend's spirits again.

"What are we sitting on?" Rosencrantz conversed. "It's not very comfortable." He looked. Rocks.

Guildenstern studied his money bag, looking at it accusingly as if he suspected it were responsible.

"A person cannot live like this. There has to be some consistency, some stability." He closed the money bag angrily.

Rosencrantz offered him the coin as if he thought Guildenstern might want to study it further. For science, perhaps. Guildenstern shook his head and Rosencrantz finally let the coin drop to the ground with a dull clink.

"I'd think knowing the result of every coin toss would be a form of..." Rosencrantz suddenly realized Guildenstern was staring at him coldly - as if daring him to finish his sentence. 

"A kind of consistency?" Guildenstern said coldly. "I suppose. But an illogical consistency. It makes no sense, therefore it isn't constant at all." He stood, and paced. Then he stopped and said, definitively as if creating an epigram "Consistency is only consistency if it fits into a system of logic and order, and when it falls out of it... it isn't." He sputtered off unable to think of a clever enough ending to his statement.  "In other words..." he paused and considered, "in other words... Routine is what life is made up of, and when it disrupted in any manner it creates chaos, even IF that disruption creates a sort of consistency that didn't exist before." He nodded. He was satisfied. Rosencrantz watched him without moving. Guildenstern turned his attention to him. "Ready?"

"You hate change?" Rosencrantz didn't move.

"I don't hate change, I don't think I said that... did I?"

* * *

Guildenstern would reluctantly acknowledge that Rosencrantz had saved him from the depths of the bog more than once; though, he would temper that by noting Rosencrantz came with his own aggravations:

They were in the tragedian's practice room. Rosencrantz was clapping slowly for the players as Guildenstern still stood, shaking, on the verge of... some very big emotion that he didn't want to let cross the threshold of his mind.

"Thank you, thank you..." the Player King and tragedians bowed a bit - not formally but lightly as if they were greeting a peer. "Now, I think its time you two leave us to practice... We want to leave some surprises, don't we?" And with that Rosencrantz and Guildenstern found themselves facing a closed door.

"Well..." said Rosencrantz, "What do you want to do, now?"

"Anything."

They wandered around at random. It was strange to see the castle so empty.  Even seeing a servant would have been someone - but  good servants are invisible (and Elsinore only had the best servants).  The usual court retinue was disbanded - everyone who knew anything about what was going on at court found reasons to be away.  It was as if they were the only two people in the world. After meandering at random, they settled into a room with a fireplace that was going well enough and had some reasonably comfortable furniture.

There they sat. Guildenstern pulled out his pipe and had a smoke. Rosencrantz didn't have any hobbies of this sort and quicky became bored - waving his hand to the side, as if he were trying to grab something, or smack an insect, but hitting nothing.

Guildenstern tried to ignore him, determinedly smoking his pipe as if trying to block him with smoke. In the end, he had to ask.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm trying to find out what one hand clapping sounds like."

Guildenstern considered this.

"Oh."

He then went back to ignoring his friend, or more accurately, avoiding him, going so far as to turn away to look at the opposite wall.

"Aren't you curious as to why?"

Rosencrantz clearly wanted to be asked why.

"No." If Rosencrantz was disappointed by Guildenstern's studied lack of interest, it was only for a moment. He continued with his experiment without further conversation until he accidentally hit Guildenstern in the head. "If I ask why, will you stop?"

"Maybe..." Guildenstern gave him a deadly look. "Yes."

"Why are you... what are you doing again?"

"Trying to learn the sound of one hand clapping."

"Why are you trying to learn the sound of one hand clapping?"

"I don't remember...." Rosencrantz grinned with embarrassment as Guildenstern twitched a bit. "You should have asked when I first mentioned it."

Guildenstern went back to looking at the opposite wall smoking his pipe as if he were unconcerned.

"You sure are in a gloomy mood." Rosencrantz walked around to look at the wall with him.

"Half a clap." Guildenstern said suddenly.

"What?"

"The sound of one hand clapping is half a clap."

"Ooohhhh... "  Rosencrantz thought about it. "No, I don't think so."

Guildenstern stood and walked around the room.

"The question itself is unreasonable. If it was, 'You know the sound of two hands clapping, what is the sound of one hand?' that at least would be clever, one hand can't clap."  
Rosencrantz considered this.

"I suppose you're right... It does seem like something you should be able to do, though. Like licking your elbow."

"What?"

"ELBOW. You can't lick your elbow."

"Why would you want to lick your elbow?"

"I didn't say I wanted to, its just if I needed to for whatever reason I couldn't." He experimentally twists his arm. "You see? It seems like something you should be able to do... but you just can't do it." He tries "It always seems like, if I just tried hard enough I could... but no."

"Well, that's good to know. Now shut up and quit being absurd."

On some level, Guildenstern wanted to sink into the bog. It was dark and unpleasant but it was also what he knew best.

 


	2. An Awakening (of sorts)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Original dated 11/6/2004  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The biggest change I made was switching the perspective from first to third person. Its going to become a huge pain in the ass because big chunks of the original fic are in first person but it just wasn't working.

_awake_  

The first time Rosencrantz remembered - or at least the first time he remembered remembering, he awoke in blackness. He might have remembered longer if he wasn't alarmed by the unexpected loss of his sight. _What is this? What's going on? Have I gone blind overnight?_   Then he remembered his eyes were covered - a flip of a sleep mask later and eyesight returned. Not that there was much to see. The early morning sun had only just begun peeking through the shutters. It was barely light enough for Rosencrantz to see his counterpart ( _his name slips through my fingers like water_ ) sleeping at the desk, his arms splayed at an awkward, almost unnatural position. Rosencrantz's neck hurt - not in the way it would if you slept wrong, but in a deeper way as if he'd slurped down an entire bowl of too hot soup.  He coughed a little testingly but that only made the outer part of his neck hurt.

Rosencrantz had a strange feeling. He couldn't find the words for it at first.

_Someone is coming._

It was strong enough for him to try to get his friend's attention.

"Rosencrantz..."  This got no reaction. "Guildenstern..." This got a sleepy groan, so he tried it again. "Guildenstern!"

"What?" Guildenstern murmured into the desk.

"A messenger is coming."

"You're dreaming. Go back to sleep."

"I can tell the difference between being asleep and awake!" Rosencrantz started, but he was interrupted by a knock on the shutters.

"Rosencrantz! Guildenstern!" the voice called.

At this, Guildenstern sat up.

"That was a coincidence." He looked confusedly at the quill in his hand, twisting his head back and forth."Or you heard him riding up." He irritably threw the quill and a piece of paper that had stuck to his cheek onto the desk, before leaning back a bit to stretch.  Rosencrantz did the same. The pain in his neck was beginning to fade to a dull ache - like when you have been ill and seem to constantly feel something is running down the back of your throat.

"Does your neck hurt, too?" It was easy to see why it would - Guildenstern had been sleeping at an odd position.

"No, my chest hurts... but, now that you mention, it my neck does feel a bit stiff."

His voice had a tone that seemed to suggest that his neck wouldn't feel stiff if Rosencrantz hadn't mentioned it. Some would see this as unnecessarily curmudgeonly of Guildenstern, but he'd been like that as long as Rosencrantz could remember. Admittedly, this wasn't very long. Some of the ink from the paper Guildenstern had slept on had transferred to his face, leaving a series of question marks on his cheek. 

"You have ink on your..." and, at the same time, he said, "I think I slept on my..." and they both trailed off, laughing a bit.

"You have ink on your face." Rosencrantz explained.

"Will you get it for me?" It was too light for it to be worth lighting a candle but still dark enough Guildenstern wouldn't be able to take care of it himself with a mirror.

There was a pitcher of water sitting on the nightstand with a small rag that would work well for such purposes. The ink was wetter than one would have expected, and smeared everywhere. By the time Rosencrantz was done, inky water had lightly stained his fingers and smeared Guildenstern's entire left cheek with black drops landing on the desk, the floor and anything in between those areas.

Guildenstern grabbed some blotter out of the drawer and did a secondary clean up that was much more effective, though he still was a touch smudgy.

"I suppose I should have just let it dry on its own. It would have probably left less of a mess." Rosencrantz confessed sheepishly.

"I think you might have gotten the worst of it," Guildenstern seemed amused, "I don't think the stain on the tip your nose or these finger shaped spots on your forehead are going away anytime soon." He started blotting up the drips. "I wonder why the ink was still wet?" he mused, turning over the piece of scrap paper he'd been using as a pillow. "I wasn't..."  is what he started to say - its unclear how he planned to finish because he never did.

"Is that your writing?" Rosencrantz asked looking over his friends shoulder, and Guildenstern admitted it was.

Written on the paper was:

 _Messenger ---- > __Heads_ _?????_  
_Travel ---- > meet Tragedians -play?_  
_Incident at play ----- > King interrupts_  
  
If there was anything more, it was gone. The paper was torn here. 

"What is this?" He wondered, alarmed. "Do you remember me writing this?"

Rosencrantz shook his head no.

"Do you know why I would write this?"

Rosencrantz shook his head again and Guildenstern was unsettled.

"It looks like a list of some sort." Rosencrantz suggested helpfully. 

Guildenstern looked like he had something to say about that but the messenger began aggressively banging at the shutters again

* * *

Rosencrantz had that feeling again. It was like how, in a dream, sometimes you knew you could fly or breathe underwater and then you can. Rosencrantz knew that if he looked at the right spot on the ground, he'd see a heads up coin. And soon, he did. He disembarked from his horse, and picked the coin up. 

"I bet you, every time I flip this coin, it will be heads."

Guildenstern raised an eyebrow.

"Oh?" he seemed amused at the idea. "Let's see."

_flip_

"Heads."

He cheerfully tossed Rosencrantz a coin that was pocketed.

_flip_

"Heads."

Guildenstern tossed another, amused.

_flip_

"Heads."

"How about you let me see that coin of yours?" He seemed less amused now.

"It's not a double headed coin.... see?" Rosencrantz showed it to Guildenstern, who gave it a couple of test tosses.

_flip_

Heads.

_flip_

Heads.

He threw it back to Rosencrantz.

"Heads."

Guildenstern tossed another to pay the bet, and when Rosencrantz started to pocket it Guildenstern stopped him.

"Open your hand. All or nothing."

Rosencrantz agreed, feeling sure of what he'd see.

"Heads."

_flip_

Guildenstern took the coin in mid-air and threw it onto the ground as if it offended him personally. He pulled out another from his own purse, checking it carefully before preparing to flip.

"Would you like to have heads this time?" Rosencrantz offered, feeling a bit bad seeing as he had the advantage.

Guildenstern shook his head.

"My turn will come, yet." Then he added, "If this turns out to be some sort of magic trick, I will be upset with you."

* * *

They watched the tragedian's whole show from beginning to end. Guildenstern watched with his brow furrowed with concentration, as if he were trying to decode a message. The play seemed pretty standard stuff.  Rosencrantz found it entertaining enough, though he did giggle at the reference to unsullied Rosalinda, until she died. Then he felt a little bad for laughing until he remembered that she was an actor who would get up eventually.

They applauded politely and continued on their way - only to realize that the tragedians were following. It was unnerving.  There was some discussion about whether they could fight the tragedians if necessary but eventually the players went deeper into a wooded area where the paths diverged. It wasn't until then that Rosencrantz realized...

"That was on the list."

"Was the significance of that lost on you?"

"What significance?"

"There was no way for that meeting to be planned. No way for us to know we would be meeting tragedians."

"The King didn't interrupt the performance, though." Rosencrantz noted "There's that."

"Yes, that was a relief." Guildenstern acknowledged. "But the rest of the note seems to have some significance to things that have happened today. Why?"

"Sometimes I feel like I remember things that haven't happened yet."  Rosencrantz spoke quickly as if the words were under great pressure.

"Everyone experiences that. Don't be stupid." Guildenstern replied irritably, but this seemed to trigger a thought. "Do you remember what happened yesterday?"

"What?"

"Do you remember yesterday?"

It seemed like this was a strange question, but now that it had been mentioned, Rosencrantz realized he didn't. 

"I... what's is wrong with you?" Something about the question itself irritated Rosencrantz, as if a particularly sensitive wound were being poked at.

"Doesn't that strike you as odd? To remember things like that... is normal. Isn't it?  At least as normal as having a coin come up tails, occasionally. Why focus on the flip of a coin, when I don't even remember my own age, my first name, or what happened yesterday? There had to be a yesterday. That's logical. I wasn't just born today. I know I existed before now - didn't I?" 

"Now, this is why we never watch the tragedians' play. You always get so odd when you get these ideas in your head."

Guildenstern turned to Rosencrantz sharply.

"How old are you?"

"I imagine about as old as you are."  Rosencrantz felt clever for a moment but was quickly deflated by Guildenstern's follow-up question.

"And, how old is that?"

"I don't remember..."  Rosencrantz looked his friend over. "But if I were to guess I'd say somewhere between 16 and 30." 

"Are you sure you want to be that specific? After all that doesn't leave you much leeway to be wrong." The sarcasm dripped from his words. "Thirty seems too old. We were in school... weren't we?" He looked at Rosencrantz who shrugged his shoulders. "Sixteen... Well, I don't feel sixteen. But that doesn't mean anything, I suppose..." They rode in silence for a minute before Guildenstern started again. "Do you know where we woke up this morning?"

"At home, of course." Rosencrantz knew this one.

"But I've never seen that place before this morning. I knew it was mine. I see the desk as belonging to me, I knew what was in the drawers. I could grab that blotter and offhand I remember that everything else in that drawer (several broken quills, a dried up inkpot, an unopened inkpot) was what I expected. But I've never seen it before." He stopped. Not physically, the horse kept walking... but he stopped. How he managed to give the impression of pacing and stopping while riding a horse, Rosencrantz couldn't figure out. "I've never seen any of it before. This horse seems somewhat familiar... but is it mine? Did we buy it for the journey? Was it brought for us? Why don't we know these things?" He breathed - in and out. A coda. "A philosopher and his student were transported far away from home and all of their knowledge was taken from them as a punishment for... some transgression against God. What it was is unimportant."

"That should be the most important part of the story." Rosencrantz interrupted. Guildenstern tried to quell this line with a look but this seemed like an important point and Rosencrantz was not going to back down..  "In fact, I'd very much like to know what it was. After all, I wouldn't want to be punished like that..."

Guildenstern sucked his lips into a thin line for a second.

"They... " he waved his hands as if he were going to grab the answer out of the air. "stole his favorite dog."

"That's horrible,"  Rosencrantz gasped.

"Don't worry about it, that isn't what is important."

"That still seems out of proportion to the crime."

Guildenstern sighed so heavily, one half expected his horse to buckle under the weight.

"They also..." he paused, "told mortals some divine secrets."

That made more sense and Rosencrantz said so.

"May I continue?" Guildenstern asked impatiently.

"Please." 

"Are you sure? You don't want me to tell you the secrets or describe the dog?"

"Could you?" Rosencrantz asked eagerly.

"No." Rosencrantz allowed he had no more questions. "They realized that they had lost all of their knowledge." He waited a moment as if waiting to be interrupted but Rosencrantz waved impatiently for him to finish. "After some consulting between themselves they realized that they did remember one thing: the alphabet. They repeated the alphabet over and over until all of their knowledge was returned."

Guildenstern was quite pleased with himself.

"What if they didn't remember remembering?" Rosencrantz wondered, "This story seems to have all sorts of holes in it."

"Well, they did. Otherwise they couldn't have done anything about it."

"Why do they remember forgetting? If they didn't remember... wouldn't that be a worse punishment? To not even remember forgetting?"

Guildenstern sucked his lips in again.

"Why do I even bother? You always miss the point."

"What is the point?" Rosencrantz was trying his best.

"The point is.."  Guildenstern stopped, and pulled himself together and took a deep rhythmic breath, "The point is..." He stopped again, and sighed. "Do you remember the alphabet?"

"No. Do you?"

"No." He avoided his friend's gaze.

Rosencrantz felt like there was something he should say. He couldn't think of anything. 

"It's the normal thing," Guildenstern continued quietly, "most people seem to remember yesterday. Their age. To be robbed of a past... Must be unspeakable...because with no past, what does the future mean?"

Rosencrantz wanted to cheer him up, so the moment he saw it, he stopped. A coin. He swung off the horse and excitedly pointed it out to his friend - it was tails up. 

"Look! This is lucky, its tails..."

But a second after he scooped it up he realized his mistake.

"Oh... its a double tailed coin. I didn't even realize they made double tailed coins."

"They had to do something with the tails after making a double headed coin." Guildenstern said dully. "The leftovers of counterfeiters. How typical."

* * *

Rosencrantz wasn't very interested in the play the tragedians were putting on. It wasn't the same show they saw in the woods - in fact this one was much better in performance and design. But it seemed so familiar - as if it were a story he'd heard so many times it had come to be part of his world. He found himself mouthing along with sections, as if it were a familiar song. Must not have been a very original plot. 

Rosencrantz didn't want to get bored enough to do something stupid, so he looked around at the audience. Did he really know these people? He didn't remember them. He had once heard somewhere that if you wanted to know about a person, you look at their hands.

The King had big hands, with fingers covered in large rich looking rings. His skin was rather dark and had that paper-thin look that the skin of older people got. There was a grasping quality to them, Everything he did, from the way he grasped the arm of his chair to the way he held the hand of the Queen was like he was saying, "This is mine." Which is a good quality in a king, but instead of power it somehow exuded a kind of neediness, like a child grabbing a toy and screaming "MINE!" 

The queen had white delicate hands, with fine delicate rings. Her hands looked soft... she probably used lotions and such on them a lot to keep them that way. She caressed her kings hands lovingly. She loves him. It's so nice to see people who are in love be married. She was still young enough for her skin to avoid that paper quality the kings hands had, but the skin still had a thinness to it that could easily turn into paper. Her hands had the quality of someone who had a soft life, who always had someone to love her to take care of her. 

The girl who the prince didn't love (even though he was sitting at her feet) had small hands. They were white, but there was a toughness to the skin that the queen didn't have. Maybe it was from sewing or needlework or something... She probably didn't have the money and leisure to spend her time covering them with lotion. Not yet, anyway. She was fiddling with her fingers nervously, but at the same time she seemed to be fighting to keep them still in her lap. No noticeable rings, which seems appropriate for an unmarried girl her age... 

The prince's hands never seemed to be still. He was gesturing, propping himself up, moving at all times. He wasn't wearing much in the way of rings and decoration, any other details were impossible to see from where he was.

Next to Rosencrantz, Guildenstern's attention was focused. One hand was propped under his chin, the other lay on his lap as if forgotten. Rosencrantz tentatively pulled the forgotten hand towards him to examine more closely. Guildenstern either wasn't paying attention or was purposely ignoring his friend.  Guildenstern had thin hands, his white fingers still stained with black marks from writing. No rings, which actually seems a bit odd, but maybe not. Rosencrantz touched his hand. Soft, but naturally so. Not that weird smooth softness that comes from applying lotion again and again. Skimming fingers along his hand hit some calluses. Writing calluses. He must be a student... or maybe he just writes a lot. His fingernails were neat and clean, but while the necessary care had been taken he didn't seem to do more than was necessary. A few of the edges were chipped as if he picked at them absently at times. The very tips of his fingers seemed dry. _Guildenstern sitting with a book absently licking his fingertips to turn the pages, complaining about how the paper made his fingers dry._  Only an impression, floating in the recesses of Rosencrantz's mind with no context, no before or after. Just existing. In a moment the other hand entered Rosencrantz's field of vision, and untangled their fingers.  Rosencrantz had forgotten himself. He looked guiltily up at his friend. Things like this irritated Guildenstern. But he only threw Rosencrantz an odd look before pulling his own hand back towards himself. 

Rosencrantz then started looking at his own hands. They were clean (somehow he'd gotten the ink off of them), and it looked like he'd never had to do hard work... _I must be well off_ Rosencrantz decided. Or at least well off enough. It looked like he had time to spend on his hands, and he spent a lot of that time making sure to take care of himself. _Perhaps I'm rather vain?_ It's hard to say. He didn't examine himself in every mirror he saw - and there are plenty of excellent mirrors at Elsinore. The skin on his hand pulled back easily, soft... Rosencrantz had a feeling he liked hand lotion... the ritual of putting it on, the texture... or maybe that was Guildenstern. It's hard to remember.

Rosencrantz spread out his fingers to see the familiar little dimples. His hands seemed fat and stubby, and he found himself longing for the elegance of those around him. No visible scarring, palms not calloused. Yes, definitely fairly well off. Probably had a pretty easy life, free from worry. That's good to know.

Rosencrantz decided he was missing the most important part... because what you do with your hands when no one's looking is just as important as how they look. He tried to distract himself... but somehow he always knew when he was looking. He tried to remember what his hands were doing when he wasn't paying attention before but he couldn't.

Guildenstern gave Rosencrantz a sharp poke and it was then it came to Rosencrantz's attention that they were the only ones left in the hall.

"Where did everyone go? It wasn't that bad... Well, it was... but its rude to run out like that."

Guildenstern shook his head a bit. "What are you doing?"

This was Rosencrantz's chance. He could impress his friend with intelligence, cleverness and wit.

Rosencrantz did what came instinctively. He made a hand puppet and raised his voice a few octaves to have it say:

"Two scholars were arguing about a flag. One said, 'The flag is moving." The other said, 'The wind is moving.' A philosopher happened to be passing and said 'Can't you two think of anything better to argue about?'"

Guildenstern put his hand over the puppet as if the fingers were a mouth that needed to be silenced.

"There must have been a moment when we met... I almost remember it... I tried to get rid of you subtly and it didn't work. You see, most people, when you try to get rid of them subtly, either get it and slink off or blatantly ignore you. But you did neither. You took what I said at face value. And when I finally just asked you to go away, you did."

"What happened?"  Rosencrantz remembered nothing of this.

"I assume I felt bad and re-started the conversation. Or maybe not.... Maybe it never happened... maybe its just something that should have." He let go of my hand. "As far as anyone knows, there wasn't a yesterday. Maybe the world was created today, and someone just forgot to give us memories of a past."

Rosencrantz held up his hand again and said in the hand puppet voice, "Don't be sad... be happy."

Guildenstern didn't say anything, but put his head between his hands, before lifting it again.

"The king interrupted the play." he sighed, "we must be entering the endgame."

Rosencrantz felt like there was something he should say, but he didn't know what. Then, everything started again.

* * *

This was not on the list. Maybe it was the part that was torn off. Rosencrantz remembered remembering - but didn't remember what he remembered until it is too late.

The water slapped lazily against the sides of the boat. It was a comforting sound, simple. Repetitive. Guildenstern hates traveling. Rosencrantz didn't mind it. But, Guildenstern reminded his friend that he never minded anything. That's your problem he said. You don't mind enough. Or you don't have enough of a mind. Guildenstern wasn't certain which.

Guildenstern smiled. He laughed. He was playing with his friend. He felt good enough to be playful. He had forgotten about the list. He had forgotten about the letter they still have to deliver. 

Or at least he wasn't thinking about it. Rosencrantz tried to not think about it too. There was plenty of time to change their minds. Plenty of time to think it over.

It doesn't have to be discussed right now. Just relax, enjoy the sea. Enjoy the temporary stability of indecision, Guildenstern would say. We can worry about implications later.

Rosencrantz hadn't said anything about it. Guildenstern felt guilty.  Rosencrantz tried to forget about it.

When Guildenstern re-read the letter, Rosencrantz had tried to stop him. Rosencrantz knew what the letter was going to say. But Guildenstern wouldn't listen. 

He'd listen next time. And, for a moment, Rosencrantz remembered everything - though he didn't understand it. Rosencrantz wished to remember long enough to tell Guildenstern about it. But it always seemed to pour through his fingers like blood out of an open wound.


	3. creepiness ensues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Original dated: 11/8/2004

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has generally been the chapter I've given up on during other attempts to work on this piece. In the first version, I was trying to do some weird second person thing and my dialogue tags were so awful I had to sit down and work out who was saying what like a math problem.

Guildenstern was sure that today wasn't ordinary. Not that he remembered any specific day he would consider ordinary, but he understood the concept in the abstract.

For example: Most days he didn't wake up at a desk. He was sure about this. Most days he woke up in his (reasonably) comfortable bed with his pillow being a proper pillow and not a piece of blotting paper that sticks to your face. He couldn't think of any specific morning like this, but he was sure that morning existed. And, usually, Guildenstern didn't wake up to find that his fingers still had wet ink on them.

Guildenstern turned to Rosencrantz to check if this was a particularly strange joke. Dipping his fingers in wet ink wasn't quite along the lines of the old warm water trick, but Guildenstern wouldn't put it past Rosencrantz to start a prank and then forget to finish it. 

Rosencrantz appeared to be firmly asleep, his long limbs swaddled into the blankets like a baby swaddled into a puzzle knot. There was no way he'd woken up, put ink on Guildenstern's fingers and then returned to that position.  Even the fact that Rosencrantz was asleep seemed wrong somehow. But a fellow could sleep. It occurred to Guildenstern that he could wake Rosencrantz up but he couldn't think of a reason why. For company? To acknowledge the oddness of this? To ask him if he smells the sea as well?

Faced with these endless choices, Guildenstern started with first things first: wiping himself clean with blotting paper and water from the bedside stand. He cracked his neck, rolling it first one way and then the other with a pop and then gargled - there was some sort of odd coppery taste in his mouth. He didn't wake up with a crick in his neck most days - Guildenstern felt like he could say that much with confidence.

Something was off that grabbed Guildenstern's attention. Something about the way the light.. no... there was no light... the... darkness? fell was wrong. Guildenstern soon found the culprit. The shutters were open slightly - unlocked and open just enough to let a skinny mouse in. Which made no sense. Guildenstern would have closed the shutters tightly and with a quick internal tutting as he did. This was a particular pet peeve of his. He habitually checked to make sure doors - particularly cabinets and shutters - were closed regularly. It was bad luck to leave things partially open - transitional areas need to be closed firmly or, as in the case of one particular stubborn cabinet, left wide open. Things could happen in the liminal space left in the in-between. The shutters were directly in front of the desk - he would have noticed. Guildenstern could imagine himself, in his mind, checking the shutters regularly for this express reason. No, he would have checked them a half dozen times over the course of a normal night. 

Guildenstern quickly surveyed the room. Nothing else seemed obviously out of place - it seemed unlikely someone would break in only to put fresh ink on a sleeping man's fingertips but odder things have happened. They were at University.

Rosencrantz finally awoke, giving Guildenstern someone to share these thoughts with. Rosencrantz sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes before holding up his finger as if to say 'wait a moment'; then, he opened his mouth and pulled out a crumpled ball of paper. He experimentally smacked his lips before saying, as if this were all commonplace "A messenger is coming."

"Where? What?" Guildenstern was more shaken by this display than he wanted to admit.

There was a knocking at the shutters - not just a couple of polite taps and then a polite request - but a knocking that didn't cease or change in pattern,

"There you go." Rosencrantz hauled himself out of bed, delicately setting the ball of paper on the endtable. "Always doubting me...."

"How did you know that?" Guildenstern reconsidered what he had just witnessed. "How did you do that?"

"I don't know..." Rosencrantz didn't seems surprised at the paper that he had dislodged from his mouth so much as puzzled. "Do you want me to try to do it again?"

 _*knock knock knock*_ The shutters rattled with the unending tapping - the man must do this for a living, a bill collector on the side, perhaps? - as Guildenstern carefully unrolled the moist ball of paper.

"Look at this..." Guildenstern pointed to the writing. "This is my writing."

"Looks familiar."

"Does it? Did you see me write it?" Guildenstern said hopefully 

 _*knock knock knock knock*_ Guildenstern had limits. He was about to open the shutters and tell the man what for. Its still early and its rude to keep knocking without at least an attempt to state your business. Is he to open his doors to every Sven, Nicholas and Holger who knocks on his door?

"No... Did you write it?"

"I'm not sure."

"It looks like your writing?"

"Do you know my writing?"

"It seems like I should."

The crumpled up paper read:

Messenger ----> get up  
Travel ----> meet Tragedians  
King and Queen ----> help Hamlet  
Hamlet -----> ?????  
Incident at play -----> King interrupts

The knocking intensified for a moment and then stopped.

"Rosencrantz! Guildenstern?"

The shutters broke open with the force of these words and the room filled with cold. The voice filled everything - becoming the only thing that existed. For a moment there was a strong rush of air into the room, before as if the room were breathing - and with an exhale the air then exited.  In a flash, the sound seemed to change position - if Guildenstern were to try to describe it, he'd say it was as if the room had suddenly spun around him. The shutters were no longer in front of him. For a brief moment he thought, "At least that makes sense." because if the shutters were on the other side, he might have missed closing them -  but the shutters were fully closed again. The voice was different, the knock polite and deferential but the request the same.

_*knock knock*_

"Rosencrantz? Guildenstern!"

Guildenstern looked at the paper again. The paper was crisp and dry. This time it read:

Glean what afflicts him.   
Draw on to a play.   
Play goes badly.  
To England.  
A letter that says

The ink was still wet. 

"Do you feel that?" Guildenstern grabbed a corner of the desk as the floor seemed to sway under him.

"Feel what?

"Did you see that?"

"See what?" 

"If nothing else you have to see that the note said something different...."

"Did it?"

"Why would I write this?" Guildenstern continued, "Why would the ink still be fresh? How could I have written this moments ago and forgotten all about it? Why would I have even put it in your mouth?"

"It seems like I would have done that for storage purposes." Rosencrantz noted helpfully.

Guildenstern didn't follow up on this line. However, on the plus side, Rosencrantz acknowledged that it was a completely different paper and the words appeared to be different. The only thing he could remember the papers had in common were the handwriting and a mention of a play.

"That was a good trick, do it again."

"I didn't do it." Guildenstern said irritably. "Do you remember what the first paper said?" Rosencrantz, naturally, had no idea. Guildenstern couldn't remember either except for the question marks. They seemed to dot his brain - as if he saw them out of the corner of his eye but when he turned they disappeared.

Did they have plans today? Is that what the messenger is here for? Why does the room look both familiar and different? It was different. Previously he had been in a cheap room in Wittenburg they were letting from a widow who was a floating dress and cap that took their gilders and occasionally commented on what good boys they were in a tone that seemed both disappointed and grateful. That room was dark, but clean with a window that faced west so Guildenstern could, theoretically work later in the day. In reality this didn't work as they lived in the city. Guildenstern refused to acknowledge this.

There wasn't a knocking now - the messenger seemed to believe he'd done his duty merely stuffing the gilded letters into the shutter's slats.

This new room was something else. The floorboards swayed under him. The desk was bolted down away from the window shutters. But he knew this room as well. He know they were on a houseboat he owned in Amsterdam - Wittenburg was years ago. These things were both true. But they couldn't both be true.

Rosencrantz remained fairly calm about the whole thing; however, Guildenstern found it disturbing to not know the basics of his own life. 

* * *

Guildenstern wondered what the message was at Wittenburg - curiosity that was soon assuaged by another shift to Wittenburg with a taste like almonds. In both places, it was a summons to visit the new King. They would see Hamlet there. They hadn't even seen Hamlet at the funeral, he and Rosencrantz were packed away with the the rest of the crowd. 

Outside, Rosencrantz was disappointed by the bitter cold.

"I expected it to be nice."

The sky was pitch black.

"Why would you expect that?"

Rosencrantz didn't know.

They traveled onward. The town was an empty shell- even for the early morning. No life. Nothing. It was as if the world was hollow.  Guildenstern smelled a burning smell and they were hiking on the road outside Amsterdam. 

 _No matter where we go, we'll end up where we're supposed to be_. This thought dotted Guildenstern's mind, and when it came up it was soothing in a way... no getting lost here. But why? Why? Why? 

"Cold isn't it?" Rosencrantz said conversationally. Guildenstern nodded. 

"Do you remember us being students at Wittenberg?"

"No." Rosencrantz responded cheerfully.

A brisk breeze blew the taste of apples into him, and they were students riding their horses from Germany again.

"Do you remember us living in a houseboat in Amsterdam?"

"No." Rosencrantz responded cheerfully.

"Well," Guildenstern decided, "that is one type of consistency. You'll think I'm quite unwell if I tell you what I've been thinking."

"I won't." his friend swore earnestly. "You don't think I'm unwell for doing things like stuffing messages in my mouth."

"Do you feel it?" 

"Feel what?"

"Something odd in the air. A type of energy. The way it always feels before a lightning storm."

Rosencrantz looked up.

"It's not raining, yet."

"The anticipation. The coldness. Rain is rain, but 'It's going to rain.' is something else entirely. It's a vibration that rings to your core. A kind of blueness that gives the world a different look. There's even a smell that seems to match it. When the actual rain comes, its an anti-climax."

Rosencrantz is sitting, examining his hands. That has to be wrong. Guildenstern was sure his friend was on a horse only a moment ago. 

"Do my fingers look stubby to you?"

"Are you even listening to me?" Guildenstern wanted this to stop. Whatever it was that made it happen where at one moment he's riding a horse from Wittenburg and the next hiking from Amsterdam needed to stop. He needed to figure out the pattern. If he could find the pattern it would at least be bearable.

Rosencrantz looked thoughtful.

"The thing I don't like about the rain is the puddles. And the getting wet. Pretty much makes travel impossible. You could get sick and catch your death."

Lightning snapped through the sky, with the thunder clapping a moment later. The rain fell and Guildenstern tried to find a way to compare the downpour to Niobe's Tears but every time he started water got in his mouth and turned his words into gurgles. Through the rain came figures - in the lightning flash of one world they had weary horses, in the thunder clap of the other only their own feet - but they were always shuffling through with a wagon. Rosencrantz and Guildenstern were always unsure as to whether to run or not. It seemed unsafe to stay, but at the same time they didn't have any other transportation ( _could have sworn we had horses in one of these places_ , Guildenstern thought).

But then it wasn't raining. But it was still dark. And now they had horses. It would be less strange if it were more strange. But, finally, things settled for a moment when the man at the lead finally spoke.

"Tragedians, at your command..."

* * *

And then they were gone.

"Should we have stayed to see their play?" Rosencrantz asked.

"Did we have a choice?"  Neither of them could remember. "You seemed awfully interested in what they were offering..."  Guildenstern noted.

"You're the one who offered them money after you figured it out." Rosencrantz retorted. "I was curious."

"I was making conversation." Guildenstern was abashed. Look down... _are we traveling or standing still?_ Traveling... presumably, but sometimes definitely not.  _What's wrong with me?_ "I felt this strange urge to... impress him. Like he was someone important."

"Oh... I thought I was following your lead."

"You thought I was interested?"

"Were you?"

"Not the slightest. Were you?"

"I was... curious. And following your lead, of course."

Guildenstern wondered if Rosencrantz realized what he was saying. Doubtful, or else he wouldn't be saying it.

"You are a piece of work."

Rosencrantz was a rare beast. Watching him walk, he seemed to almost careen along. As if, instead of moving his limbs, he were merely flinging them out in front of him in the hopes that eventually the motion would move him forward. When he reached his destination, he seemed as surprised as anyone, clinging on to the nearest object as if gravity might suddenly stop and suck him up into the sky.

"Lucky that coin kept coming up heads." Rosencrantz observed.

Guildenstern had forgotten about the coin. It was a thought that popped up and disappeared as quickly as it came up. 

"Yes, lucky..."

Guildenstern looked down, rubbing his temples and closing his eyes. There was a smell of fresh wool in the air. When he looked up again they were both in court dress, speaking to the King.

Dealing with everything was a nightmare. People would be one place, then another. Rooms would suddenly switch sides. They'd be inside then they'd be outside. It would be dark then light. They were paper dolls being redressed and re-positioned by children that couldn't make up their minds. Guildenstern hears sparrows. Elsinore is a grand airy palace. Guildenstern hears a hawk cry. Elsinore is a damp dark castle. A sensation of silk -  the Prince is a younger man barely outside of a boy. The tangy smell of leather - the Prince is far older - a grown man too protected from the world to manage it. Both courts appeared to be equally true and false.

It was enough to make anyone tense, but Rosencrantz didn't seem to notice it. Once the Prince had left their presence, Guildenstern decided to try again.

"Have you noticed that the Prince seems to vary in appearance a great deal?"

"Yes, I suppose its one of the symptoms of his affliction."

"The rest of the castle seems to change with him."

"Well," Rosencrantz observed, "he is the Prince."

"A theory." Guildenstern noted, "Our Crown Prince and his country are of one mind. When the Prince is unsettled, the country unsettles with him." 

"Its possible."

"But you have seen it."

"Oh, yes." 

"You aren't only saying this to make me feel better?"

"Oh, no."

"Then why do you not react?"

"I didn't want to cause a fuss. Perhaps its the normal way and we usually don't notice."

"A fresh theory - either the normal has become noticeable in a way that makes it abnormal or the abnormal has become so sustained that it has become a new normal."

Rosencrantz put his hand out to soothe his friend, "May I?" Guildenstern nodded. Rosencrantz rubbed Guildenstern's back almost absently.

"Both areas," Rosencrantz began, "have their good parts and bad parts. I  find myself missing the airiness of the Light Palace when in the dreary Dank Castle, but a few giggling courtiers would soon have me missing the way its just us in the Dank Castle. The King and Queen and Hamlet are always the same even when they looked different and the things they said were often the same. I... understand each world as I stand in it and the other becomes the very shadow of a dream. I thought maybe I was falling asleep. No one else seemed affected so maybe it was normal. After all one only has a vague sense of what is normal."

* * *

Guildenstern could see Rosencrantz walking in an exaggeratedly sneaky way through the half-open curtain. _He thinks he's sneaking up on me. Probably thinks he'll give me a little scare. Probably thinks it will create a little release of the tension in the air. All will have a good laugh._

Guildenstern closed the curtains firmly (another liminal space) fully prepared for Rosencrantz to open them up to "surprise" him.

"Boo!" Guildenstern gave both scream and jump. The sound was in a completely different place from the curtains used to be... The scarer wasn't Rosencrantz at all - it was the lead tragedian.

"You're fairly tightly wound, aren't you?" The tragedian laughed heartily.

They had switched around within the moment and changed positions. Guildenstern tried to not tremble as he left.

Pull together your dignity. Walk away with your head high. Rosencrantz followed. The tragedians were all laughing and snickering as Rosencrantz and Guildenstern left. 

"Did you see that?"

"He did give you a proper scare." Rosencrantz laughed heartily.

"But he... but you... Oh, never mind."

There was nothing to say for a while, until they entered a quiet dark room that had a chessboard in front of a roaring fire that a whiff of lavender turned into a chessboard in front of a light and airy window in a room where musicians played and other courtiers played cards and spoke quietly.

"Do you want to play a game of chess?"

Never thought he'd ask. The pieces changed from heavy painted lead pieces to thin and airy figures made with bone and ebony but the board itself remained the same.

Rosencrantz and Guildenstern had their own rules for chess. Mind you, the basic moves are the same, but unless you come up with a relevant and interesting commentary on the action you could lose your pieces. Rosencrantz flips a coin for first move. Heads. Something seemed disquieting about that, but Guildenstern couldn't put his finger on what.

Rosencrantz set up his white pieces while Guildenstern set up his black.

"A pawn wanders out to test the mettle of the opposing army. (F2-F4)" Rosencrantz began.

"A knight rises to the challenge, leaping over the heads of the pawns of his own army to show how much more powerful he is than a simple pawn. (B8-C6)" Guildenstern might have moved the piece with a little twitch, as if to suggest a horse kicking up its heels.

"The pawn is suitably intimidated. However, a knight pulls out to prove that we have our own warriors (G1-F3)." Rosencrantz set down his own slender carved piece down with a firm finality.

"I retreat." Guildenstern returned his knight to the fold.

"Retreat, you can't retreat!" 

"Make another move... I didn't say I quit." Guildenstern reassured him.

"My knight is very upset by your retreat and moves forward sulkily. (F3-E5)"

"You shouldn't let your emotions run your game. My pawn steps out to stretch his legs. (C7-C6)."Guildenstern places his pawn, whistling nonchalantly.

"You should watch where you're going, my knight easily kills your pawn in hand to hand combat. (E5-C6)."Rosencrantz triumphantly claimed Guildenstern's piece.

"You need to use your knight more wisely. My knight quickly runs by and cuts off your knights head while he's celebrating his victory over a pawn (B8-C6)."Guildenstern claimed his own victory. Rosencrantz studied the board.

"Another pawn goes to join the first one, because the other army is too sneaky for us. (G2-G4)." Rosencrantz sulked.

"I shouldn't accept that." Guildenstern noted.

"That's as good as anything. If you won't accept that, then I'm going to call you on that retreat a few moves back."

"My knight returns to his post. (C6-B8)" Guildenstern sheepishly replaced his knight.

"And you were getting on me for a weak move."Rosencrantz snorted.

"Are you going to complain or are you going to play?"Guildenstern retorted.

"My bishop steps out for some fresh air. (F1-G2)"

"My knight jumps out to keep an eye on him (G8-F6)."Guildenstern is careful to pointhis knight at the bishop in question.

"My bishop see the opportunity to grab a pawn and takes him, converting him to Islam and then killing him for heresy. (G2-B7)" Rosencrantz said with a sudden triumph.Guildenstern sighed with frustration. "You just wish you had thought of that first." Rosencrantz noted with pride.

"My knight goes and kills the pawn because it had been making nasty comments about his wife. (F16-G4)" Guildenstern needed to get a bit of his own back at this point.

"My bishop kills and attempts to subtly take the place of your bishop. (B7-C8)" Rosencrantz was on a roll.

"I'll give you that one." Guildenstern allowed.

"Thank you."

"For lack of anything better to do, my pawn goes out to talk to your pawn (E7-E5)." Guildenstern hopped his fresh pawn over.

"My pawn challenges your pawn to a game of questions." This was when the fun really began.

"Would the loser be captured?" Guildenstern asked suspense-fully

"Or killed." Rosencrantz finished.

"Statement, One-luv."

"Did you think that was a statement?" Rosencrantz challenged.

"Wasn't it?" 

"How do you always do that?"Rosencrantz groused.

"Do what?"Guildenstern responded as innocently as could be.

"Don't you know?"

"Who doesn't know?"

"Know what?"

"That's what I wanted to know..."

"Statement. One-all."Rosencrantz cheered.

This probably could have continued all day. They had played games that lasted weeks, months, years, lifetimes...  This particular game was postponed for the moment, for the Prince. Everything always had to stop for the Prince. Even the changes stopped when the Prince was present.

It would seem to reason, they would want the Prince around for that reason if no other. But somehow, even without slipping between two different lifetimes - things seemed more chaotic, not less, when the Prince entered the room. Nothing felt right. Everything was off.  _What is going on?_

* * *

  
They closed the Letter that announced the coming execution of the crown Prince.

Rosencrantz's eyes seemed impossibly large as the full implication occurred to him. He opened his mouth.

"No." Guildenstern said. "Telling Hamlet would be interfering with things we have no business interfering in."

"Do you think the Letter is the same in the other place?"

It was difficult to say. As far as Guildenstern could tell the Prince was the only significant difference at this point. Otherwise, it seemed that a boat was a boat was a boat.

"It's best we forget having read it. It wasn't our place to read it to begin with." Guildenstern continued as if Rosencrantz hadn't spoken.

Rosencrantz didn't speak for a long time, looking down at the floorboards. When Rosencrantz looked up at Guildenstern again, he spoke.

"If you died and you could only keep one memory, what would it be?"

"Why? You're not dead."

"I didn't say I was, it just crossed my mind. I heard it somewhere.... that when you died, you were allowed to keep one memory. And I always wondered... if you were allowed to keep one memory when you died, if it would be a memory like a normal memory. Or more something you lived. So if you were good you lived your best memory, your favorite. Then the bad would be your worst memory. Over and over and over and over..." Guildenstern was rattled. _Control yourself, he's babbling_. Rosencrantz continued, "What would yours be?"

"I'm not discussing this... its stupid. There's nothing after death... What would yours be?"

"Probably the same as yours.... What if you had no memories worth keeping? Then, perhaps it would just be your last memory. And what if someone else picked the same as you? Would you both be stuck together? Forever?"

"I'm not talking about death." Guildenstern stated firmly.

"You're right. It's not worth thinking about... After all it does sound unlikely... Living one memory... losing everything else... because that would be ridiculous... I mean, they say that two people can't even agree on the most basic events of a dinner party. What would happen if two people had to share a memory? It would be chaos. They'd have completely different views of everything and it would get all jumbled."

"Are you done?"

"I suppose it would be very rare for two people to end up with the same memory. And of course, as you said, it wouldn't happen."

"You're assuming something completely ridiculous. Even if there were something after death, why would it be that?"

"Only making conversation." Rosencrantz said with artificial airiness.

"I want no more discussions on death. Even if we were dead, which we aren't, and even if we were living the same day over and over, which we aren't, even if those things were true, they couldn't be because if we were just experiencing a memory we wouldn't be able to discuss it, now would we?"

"I didn't say we were." Rosencrantz retorted.

"Well, at least there's still some life left in you." 

Impulsively, Guildenstern leaned over and gave him a kiss. So soft. Rosencrantz didn't resist. In fact, he trembled as their lips touched. Guildenstern found pulling away difficult.  Guildenstern turned away while he still could, quickly walking up to the deck where they would be around others.  Rosencrantz followed, with a look of dawning intelligence, as if he were trying to understand something. Then he grabbed Guildenstern by the sides of his face, and kissed him. Guildenstern could feel it down to his toes. It was like being on fire. Well, without all of the pain, and the fire. But the burning, the heat... that was there.

Guildenstern pushed Rosencrantz away.

Rosencrantz was immediately apologetic.

"I'm sorry... I was just... following your lead."

There it was again. Wish he'd stop, it makes it so much more difficult. 

"We're both in a stressful situation. We don't want to make any hasty decisions we'll regret later."

_Not like this._

"Oh... of course...."

_Not in a moment of fear and desperation._

" If we act on this impulse now, it would ruin everything."

_A better time will come._

"yes..."

"If... later... we feel the same way, maybe then... we could discuss it."

"If you say so..." Rosencrantz's voice became very quiet and small.

Put a hand on his back. Be the nursemaid.

"It's not a big deal. Nothing we can't live with. It could be worse." Rosencrantz didn't say anything. "Go to sleep. Everything will seem clearer in the morning."

Rosencrantz went right to bed and settled down. He seemed to be sleeping... but Guildenstern stayed up for a long time.

Always the decisions. Always having to be the decision maker. It's too much. But Rosencrantz's judgment isn't to be trusted - he's too impulsive, too emotional. Why, he would have told Hamlet about the letter out of only a misguided sense of loyalty.

In the morning nothing was clearer. They had nothing to say to each other. 

* * *

The Letter was different again. Guildenstern felt like he should have known. But, how could he have known? If he'd thought of it at all, he'd have assumed the letter would turn back into a benign message from one King to another - some variation of "take care of my crazy nephew-son". The tragedians were loosely banded around them in a circle. There was something menacing about it. For reasons that wouldn't coalesce into words, Guildenstern felt cornered. In that moment, somehow it fit. Guildenstern saw the men who played the spies in the tragedian's odd play. To take the paper over to them, and toss it to them was the work of a moment.

"I think there is a message for you." Guildenstern said quietly.

They let it drop to the floorboards. They seemed strangely blank and Guildenstern wildly wondered if he could pick them up and move them into position like pawns on a chessboard. The lead tragedian crossed over, picked up the paper between two fingers and offered it back to him.

"No, its for you. Are you getting it, yet?"

It was too much. Guildenstern grabbed Rosencrantz and ran as fast as he could, down endless stairways that seemed to go nowhere, to a room that was and wasn't their room. A room that looked strangely familiar, down to the desk. Guildenstern took a chair, put it under the doorknob as if that would stop it. His eyes went to the shutters - they were half-open.

Guildenstern went to close them when it occurred to him Rosencrantz had been unusually complacent and easy to maneuver, like a life sized doll.

"We can figure this out." Guildenstern spoke too loudly so he could hear himself over the thrumming in his ears. Then more firmly, quietly. "I'm going to figure things out."

Rosencrantz was strangely still and swaying oddly.  It took Guildenstern a moment to realize what he was seeing.

_no. no. no. no. no. no. no. no._

Grab him, kiss him... but it was too late. Too late... Fall... there's stuff...everywhere... dripping... Fall into the chair 

 _funny, could have sworn I moved it_  

Something is a blur in the corner of Guildenstern's eye.

 _can't bring myself to look_   _don't want to remember that, don't want to remember..._  

Guildenstern couldn't breathe. Now there was blood everywhere...  He must have missed by a bit... had to pick the harder way.. but there was no more rope...

 _don't want to think of that don't want to remember_  

Guildenstern collapsed onto the desk... everything was slipping away again into the peaceful nothing...

"You've reached your destination..." He didn't recognize the voice, but it was familiar and strange - warm and cold.

"What are you playing at?" A second voice intruded.There was some shuffling. Then there was knocking... the infernal knocking... "Rosencrantz... Guildenstern..."

And then there was the blessed nothingness... but it only lasted a little while... and there was always a next time.


	4. Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Original 11/18/2004  
> From original notes:  
> Flashback time (everyone wave your arms for the ripple effect: diddle da diddle da diddle da...)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> rosencrantz is one of the most friendly cats one could ever meet  
> rosencrantz is at times like guildenstern’s younger brother  
> rosencrantz is pretty unsure  
> rosencrantz is delighted though a bit embarrassed as he pockets coin after coin  
> rosencrantz is yet another alias for me  
> rosencrantz is all attention but the music is a bit out of tune  
> rosencrantz is also a bit thick  
> rosencrantz is unaffected  
> rosencrantz is standing  
> rosencrantz is really after sydneys power to control the dark  
> rosencrantz is startled that the music is coming from three barrels on stage  
> rosencrantz is the more passive of the two  
> rosencrantz is the doer  
> rosencrantz is sure that they looked ridiculous to the king and queen  
> rosencrantz is a likeable mutt who can never quite keep up  
> rosencrantz is impenetrably shallow and ridiculously unobservant  
> rosencrantz is a lawyer at stanislaw ashbaugh llp  
> rosencrantz is anxious to get going  
> rosencrantz is standing behind him  
> rosencrantz is the one who is aware of the world  
> rosencrantz is starving  
> rosencrantz is a doctoral graduate of harvard university with mba's from princeton and duke  
> rosencrantz is puzzled by his companion's attitude  
> rosencrantz is fussy and impatient  
> rosencrantz is a mysterious figure indeed  
> cut and pasted from Googlism on 11/18/2004(http://www.googlism.com/index.htm?ism=rosencrantz&type=1)

The next time there was no note. But a seed had been planted. 

The next time he came to awareness, Rosencrantz realized he didn't remember a time before Guildenstern.

"Do you think I ever existed without you?"

"Of course you did." Guildenstern said dismissively. "You've been without me plenty of times."

The idea that he had existed without Guildenstern seemed implausible. He tried to think of a way to explain to Guildenstern that sometimes it seemed like there was a hole in the world and he could see a dozen versions of the same moment - Guildenstern saying the same thing in different tones, and with different mouths. But every time he tried, he couldn't think of a way to say it that Guildenstern wouldn't dismiss. The past mostly seemed an abstract concept. Occasionally he'd see a moment in time - always a moment with Guildenstern.   

> _An image of Guildenstern sitting at a table with a strangely clear mirror reading and looking up at him with irritation._
> 
> "Are you interrupting me again?"

But that was wrong somehow, too. As if he were far away, looking at his own life through the wrong side of a looking glass on a stage.

The trip to Elsinore seemed particularly endless on the day that Rosencrantz decided to make up a past for himself.

He immediately determined that there was no specific moment he and Guildenstern met. No moment where they shook hands and introduced themselves - only a time in which they became friends.

Guildenstern was selected to be educated alongside the Prince at Christiansborg Castle in Copenhagen.  His friend would have written him - long letters that he obviously had spent a great deal of time on. Rosencrantz would have always written back.

Face to face they at times seemed to be having two different conversations. Much like his conversation, sometimes Guildenstern's letters would be dense and difficult to read, but, much like that conversation, Rosencrantz would have skimmed over the parts he didn't really understand. Guildenstern would write about what he'd been reading and learning - alternating between philosophizing and worrying because even though Guildenstern had a mind for memorization, Hamlet was clever. Rosencrantz wrote about local happenings, stories about his family, who is getting married to who and odds and ends of that sort.

Rosencrantz was only momentarily distracted from this line of thought by the presence of royalty.  Shortly after they had left the king and queen, Rosencrantz impulsively asked,

"Do I have any brothers or sisters?" 

"Where?" Guildenstern looked around. "Here?"

"No, I mean... back home."

Rosencrantz tried to not talk about back home, too much. Something about it upset them both, if they lingered on the subject too long.

"I don't know." Guildenstern responded irritably. Then after looking at Rosencrantz a long moment, he changed his answer. "Yes."

"Which?"

"Which what?"

"Do I have brothers or sisters?"

"Both." Guildenstern seemed to be attempting to finish this line of thought.

"What are their names?" Rosencrantz knew this was pushing it but Guildenstern took it better than he expected.

"There were too many of them, I couldn't keep track."

Guildenstern said it instinctively enough, Rosencrantz decided it must be true. They had figured that much out - the instinctive things, the names they want to call each other when they don't think - those seemed to be the truest things.

He tried to pull up images of these siblings, but he came up only with faceless blurs in masculine and feminine dress - two older ones that were presumably his parents and many other ones of various sizes that would be his brothers and sisters.

He tried to imagine it. He had to have had mealtimes with them. Taken their hand-me-downs. He tried to imagine seeing his sisters sewing with his mother like little ducklings lined up in a row and for some reason in his mind his mother was the Queen and his sisters various Ophelias - not multiple of the same Ophelia, but many different girls that his mind all labelled as "Ophelia". His brothers didn't even come into that much focus - they were mainly jackets and mugs of mead and giants hands that patted him on the head.

He tried to explain this all to Guildenstern, but what seemed so clear in his mind sounded like nonsense out of it and they ended up fighting until Rosencrantz walked away in hurt.

Rosencrantz concluded that he probably didn't lack faceless friends who were interchangeable backslaps and goblets of wine . Friends who hardly noticed if he didn't show up one day when he said he would, or if they left him behind because he was distracted. He had lots of friends, but the only person he felt close to was Guildenstern, even though he was miles away.

Rosencrantz wanted to express this to his friend now. It seemed important somehow - that Guildenstern know that he felt closer to him than anyone else - but, instead it came out as a plea.

"Don't leave me!"

* * *

The tragedians play was incredibly predictable, especially so when Rosencrantz could see a dozen versions of it (some versions had a cart full of props, others mimed - Alfred varied greatly in his feminine believability). Instead of being distracted by the hole in the universe in front of him showing him endless variations on a familiar scene, Rosencrantz daydreamed about the past. He tried to imagine the day he was allowed to begin to attend the Prince at court.  With numerous brothers and sisters, Rosencrantz's own family was more likely to be glad to be rid of him than not.

Going to court would have been the first time Rosencrantz had seen Guildenstern in... years? No, he would have gone to court occasionally for something, wouldn't he? His mind again went to the images of his siblings - the images always seemed older than him.  Perhaps he wasn't old enough. Perhaps his arrival in court would have been the first time Rosencrantz noticed the height difference between himself and Guildenstern. He was reasonably sure he was taller than Guildenstern most of the time - except when he wasn't. It seemed plausible that would be the first thing they'd talk about  - they hadn't seen each other in a while, right?

"You've gotten shorter."  Rosencrantz would have said. Because of course that's how it would have felt.

"Or," the Guildenstern of his mind observed, "perhaps the world has become smaller around you."

They then spent the afternoon trying to decide if the world had gotten smaller around Rosencrantz - comparing both of their measurements to known items until they finally settled on the probability being that Rosencrantz had merely grown taller.

The time without Guildenstern seemed unreal - hazy. But once he imagined Guildenstern things became more vivid. Guildenstern would have not changed much. He was older - even taller - but he also seemed tired. He got lost in his own thoughts and couldn't be pulled out again. 

Rosencrantz snapped back into the world where he watched a play with the King for a moment.

"Did you have any brothers or sisters?" Rosencrantz whispered to his friend during a particularly long monologue, Guildenstern frowned and shook his head.

"Do you remember your father?"

"What?"

"Your father, your da?"

"Do you remember yours?"

"I asked you first." It came out before he could stop himself and they had to stop before things went downhill spiraling into a verbal sparring.

Mental Guildenstern had a complicated relationship with his father. Rosencrantz didn't see the man in his mind, but he could hear Guildenstern talking about him. The old man's accusations of immorality veered between accusations of whoring to sodomy depending on his mood. Rosencrantz, in Guildenstern's place, would have constantly tried to prove his goodness to such a man, but Guildenstern was of a nature to answer his father that he'd been out whoring after a long day at the library and take the whipping he would have gotten regardless. 

It wasn't until later, after they had left the King, that Guildenstern realized with amazement.

"I don't remember my father at all."

They did not discuss this further.

* * *

Laying in the endless dark of the ship pretending to sleep, Rosencrantz let his imagination run wild.

In his mind he conjured up an image of Guildenstern in a dress with one of those frilly things around his neck.

"Why am I doing this?" Mental Guildenstern asked irritably.

Rosencrantz had to stop his daydream for a minute to consider this. He had to come up with a reason.

"Because you love me?"

Mental Guildenstern's eye twitched a bit.

"No."

Rosencrantz had to stop it again. He had to come up with a better reason than that.

"Because you lost a bet with me?"

Mental Guildenstern sighed - or tried to sigh. The tied up parts were stopping him. Rosencrantz was helping Guildenstern into an old dress that probably belonged to Guildenstern's mother. It was rather out of date, but there were still dowagers who took decades off their age who dress like this. If he had to wear a dress publicly as a lost bet, one would prefer to only have one reason to look foolish. They picked the occasion of a fancy dress party that was being held by.... someone in Guildenstern's family as the best one for fulfilling the bet. Embarrassment in front of his family would be painful, if discovered but  well... if he was discovered they would at least keep it quiet. Hopefully.

Guildenstern would've had to decide whether it was worse to go through the dishonor of going back on his bet, or dressing up like a woman publicly. In his fantasy, Rosencrantz never even gave him a chance to consider it.

"If didn't know you so well, I'd think you had an ulterior motive in this." Guildenstern sniffed. "What is this thing?" He held up a large triangle shaped piece of fabric with ties hanging off. "Did we forget something important?"

After holding it up until it made sense somewhere and tying it in, Rosencrantz insisted he had no motive other than curiosity in the bet he made.

"I thought you'd be able to do it. It sounded reasonable. Who would have guessed that you can't lick your own elbow?"

After some untying and retying, Rosencrantz stepped back and examined his work.

"How do I look?" Guildenstern asked nervously. He looked like an irritated Guildenstern wearing a dress. Rosencrantz, for his part, enjoyed the view, but knew that wasn't the effect his friend wanted.

"You'll be wearing a mask." Rosencrantz tried helpfully as Guildenstern adjusted the skirts. 

This version of Guildenstern had bright red curly hair that he spent every day painstakingly slicking down and hiding. This could work to his advantage in his costume, as most people wouldn't immediately associate the hair and him. After they put their masks, they began walking to the part of the castle that held the celebration.

"I can't breathe. I have too many layers on. The whole process is ridiculous. I don't see how someone could do this every single day." Guildenstern grumbled a long string of complaints to this effect as they wandered the endless halls.

"Stick with me, and if you start to get faint or your delicate little feet get tired, I'll escort you home, m'lady."

"You keep doing that, and I'll show you delicate little feet."

Rosencrantz grinned impishly.

"You should practice your female voice."

"I intend to practice the feminine art of silence." Guildenstern stated firmly. This, at least stopped the endless rhythm of grumbling.

"We never really considered if you moved like a girl." Rosencrantz considered. "Let me see you walk a bit." He stopped and watched Guildenstern for a moment. "You're walking like you're angry and feel awkward." This didn't go over well as Guildenstern glared at him. "You should walk like you normally do, with that little swish."

In the dark of the boat, Rosencrantz found himself blushing at the idea of not only admitting that sometimes he watched Guildenstern from behind, but implying that he might enjoy the view. But, in the moment, Guildenstern wouldn't have picked up on that.

"I don't swish." Guildenstern would insist.

"You do." Rosencrantz struggled to keep himself from seeming too amused.

"Show me."

"I can't do it."

"Try."

Rosencrantz tried, and failed miserably, tripping over a section of rug that had been pushed back.

"I don't think you are one to talk about how people walk." Guildenstern noted smugly.

"Fine then, you show me."

Guildenstern rode the this small victory into the headspace needed to walk perfectly - proving Rosencrantz's point but also giving the skirt the perfect sway.

When the sounds of celebration reached them, Rosencrantz stopped suddenly.

"I have to admit... I did have an ulterior motive in getting you to do this."

This got his friend's attention - an eyebrow might have been raised.

Rosencrantz looked down and shuffled his feet.

"I didn't want to go by myself and I knew you wouldn't go unless I tricked you into it."

"Couldn't you have just bet me going to the dance?"

"You wouldn't have come unless I made it complicated."

Neither of them were masters of self awareness, but even Guildenstern had to admit that he wasn't wrong. 

The dance line were all Ophelias (all beautiful and none the same - with only wide innocent eyes in common) - Guildenstern's sharp eyes stood out to Rosencrantz. It was reassuring seeing his friend - almost but not quite touching him as they both followed the conventions of the steps they were expected to make.

In the dark of the lower deck of the ship, sometimes Rosencrantz imagined what else could have happened. When Guildenstern's breathing was steady and heavy and the Prince was silent enough to be ignored, sometimes Rosencrantz imagined meeting Guildenstern back in a hidden cove and kissing him - telling him he was beautiful and lifting his skirt... The "why's" were never important in those moments where Rosencrantz took full advantage of the privacy of darkness.  These private memories weren't "real" memories but he couldn't say why or how.

In level-headed moments Rosencrantz tried to come up with more realistic endings to their evening. They probably lost track of each other and, at some point, Rosencrantz identified him from behind by his hair and playfully put his hands over the mask's eyeholes.

"Guess who?"

The person in front of him responded by pulling him back into a hidden alcove where he was kissed and he kissed back instinctively. But since this was a daytime memory and not a nighttime one, this person wasn't Guildenstern at all. She wasn't an Ophelia... who was she?

"Rosalind?" The name came out without conscious thought.

She pulled up her mask.

"You're my brothers friend, aren't you? Oh... You aren't going to tell him? I thought you were my husband, I swear."

Rosencrantz stammered an apology and a vague statement that he wasn't going to tell anyone. 

 _I thought Guildenstern didn't have any brothers or sisters?_   Rosencrantz thought as he stepped back into the party. Guildenstern was glaring at him - and Rosencrantz felt very exposed. Somehow, he knew. 

They left shortly after that. Rosencrantz silently walking Guildenstern back to his rooms where the mask coolly turned to Rosencrantz and told him he could go.

"You'll need me to help you out of those." 

"I don't." Guildenstern insisted.

Rosencrantz remembered the endless mass of knots awaiting under the skirts and followed into the sitting area.  Guildenstern walked into the dressing closet silently locking himself in. It wasn't long before he came out again.

"I need your help to get out of this." Guildenstern pointedly didn't look at him. Rosencrantz tried to not seem smug. "I would have used a knife to cut it off, but I can't see clearly enough."

Rosencrantz tried to explain what had happened as he helped, but Guildenstern silenced him with a withering look. Guildenstern didn't say anything until Rosencrantz had undone the the main knot that held most of it together

"I can get the rest myself."

"Are you sure?"

"Does this look unsure to you?" He leveled Rosencrantz with an evil gaze. It didn't.

Rosencrantz was not so easily put off - even though he left his friend to finish undressing, he still waited in the sitting room for Guildenstern to finish getting redressed. He had a feeling that he wasn't going to like what was coming next, but he was going to get this straightened out ASAP.

"Did you have fun cuckolding my brother-in-law?" Guildenstern's voice snapped him back to his presence.

"What? No... I mean I didn't... I mean I was only gone a few seconds." Rosencrantz said helplessly.

Guildenstern didn't seem to be listening.

"I don't care what she does, she's only my sister by marriage, but you of all people...."

Rosencrantz didn't say anything for a long moment before deciding on the truth.

"I thought she was you."

"I don't believe that for a second." A second later, Guildenstern reconsidered. "Did you?"

Rosencrantz nodded.

"And you didn't?"

Rosencrantz shook his head vehemently.

"It was innocent?"

"Nothing happened..." Rosencrantz said truthfully.  Rosencrantz didn't want to tell him anything more. He was still trying to understand it himself. What he would have been willing to let the person he thought was Guildenstern do. "She pulled off her mask. She thought I was your brother-in-law... it was a big stupid mistake."

Guildenstern accepted this explanation. Rosencrantz would tell him the rest one day... once he figured out what it meant. Rosencrantz felt separated from his friend for the first time he remembered. 

It separated them on the boat as well. Rosencrantz wanted to talk to Guildenstern about his thoughts - ask him what they meant.

Guildenstern was also the very last person he wanted to ask. 

Guildenstern tried to involve Rosencrantz in conversation, but all Rosencrantz wanted to talk to him about was their past. The games of chance they played and the ensuing debates over what constituted a fair win.

Guildenstern didn't know how to handle this sudden out-of-character fit of nostalgia. If he were in better spirits or were clearer minded, he might have thought to suggest they engage in a few games of chance to distract Rosencrantz from these thoughts - but as it was, Guildenstern's attempts to make up a history to satisfy his friend quickly spiraled into frustration as Rosencrantz insisted on getting names and dates on a past they both found an endless fog of nothing.

Occasionally Rosencrantz tried asking the Prince what he remembered about the past, but the Prince gave nonsense answers about his father being a glove-maker and his mother a feather quill.

It wasn't until they realized Hamlet was going to die in England that Rosencrantz found himself thinking about University.

When Guildenstern went to University, Rosencrantz supposed he did too.  He decided it was a happy, if uneventful time.  As uneventful as anything around Hamlet would be.

Hamlet was at University. Rosencrantz felt like he could say that with some confidence, though he couldn't pull up anything more definite than seeing the back of the royal neck on occasion in his imagination.They both knew him from their childhood. At least, Hamlet remembered him and Guildenstern. Hamlet made a point of distinguishing them, even as his attention went more definitively to some scholar.

Rosencrantz didn't remember growing up with Hamlet. How did Hamlet remember him from all of the other noble children?

Rosencrantz considered this lack of memory a gift for purposes of delivering the Prince to his doom. He didn't really allow himself to think of the Prince as a person until he was gone. Once the Prince was truly safe (gone? was gone safe?), Rosencrantz tried to piece the Hamlet he knew back together in his mind.

Hamlet liked them at University. Rosencrantz would swear to that. Perhaps they were refreshing change from the manipulative connivers that normally tried to insinuate their way into the Prince's life. Hamlet was constantly surrounded by people - laughing and joking.  The fellows from school would hardly recognize the man who glowered around the halls of Elsinore. If there were to be a vote on which Dane would be Most Likely to Wear Black and Monologue around Elsinore - it would have been Guildenstern by a landslide.

The only indication of the person he was on the way to England were the times he would become the Prince - who was a threatening person to be around. When he was the Prince, he revealed a darkness underneath. Only a flash, and then he would be Hamlet again. 

They really never thought of themselves as his close friends. They knew their place in the royal lives. They were only two more names he had to remember as part of his place in the world.

Rosencrantz's mind rebelled at the idea of making too much of their times with Hamlet after they learned the contents of the second letter. Mostly it was the two of them. He wished he could remember, for real. Those must have been the days, the days Before. He could see himself in this moment - dozens of times. All of the Rosencrantzes walked towards each other until there was only one. That was the thing that was so frustrating, in the darkness. He could get so far... and then it was a brick wall. No, it was worse... it was stepping on a step - your foot touching nothing and falling with nothing to grab onto but the only other person there. 


End file.
